


Hit Me Like A Man

by EmeraldTrident, MagpieWendigo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Play, Dacryphilia, M/M, Mentions of Necrophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldTrident/pseuds/EmeraldTrident, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWendigo/pseuds/MagpieWendigo
Summary: Francis follows Will to his hotel room to take everything from him. His body and his life. Will finds solace in his own mind palace to mentally escape.
Relationships: Francis Dolarhyde/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 116





	Hit Me Like A Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very non-con, please read with caution! Mentions of necrophilia and blood play and biting. (WILL DOES NOT DIE... I just want to confirm that)

A sliver of waning moon lay nestled in her velvet bed, a wash of periwinkle on the horizon the only remainder of light, reminder of day, fading edge of dusk. 

From behind a gathering of perfectly manicured courtyard bushes, Francis Dolarhyde watched Will Graham swipe a card at the side entrance to the hotel. He waited patiently and counted in his head the number of steps it would take to reach room 126. Right on queue, patio lights revealed the interior of a small room through a sliding door. 

Francis watched Will move about in the room, removing his jacket, shoes; digging through his suitcase; going into the bathroom. 

What Will didn’t know is that the lock and security bar of his patio door had been undone earlier in the day when housekeeping came through. Francis touched the folded blade in his pocket for reassurance. Yes, the only way to truly avoid temptation was to remove the source of said temptation, and that’s all Will was to him. A terrible, frightening combination of want and disgust that constantly clouded his thoughts. How could he fulfill his destiny as the Great Red Dragon with such a distraction moving about in the world? It was time to cut away the rotting flesh.

Will made quick work of his clothing once inside the windowless safety of the small dingy motel bathroom. Tossing the articles into a messy heap of fabrics in the sink, he grabbed the sample size of soap and shampoo and stepped into the shower to wash the day of grime and guilt from his mind and flesh. 

He had seen Hannibal earlier that day, right before lunch. Thank God. If it had been directly after he feared he would’ve gotten sick from the nerves attacking his senses. Seeing Hannibal always filled his stomach with butterflies, but not the type one would typically experience while gazing at a lover. These butterflies had horns and they ripped and tore at his organs, striking deeper than a cute little flutter of wings, puncturing him and making him bleed, making him hurt. But it was a pleasant pain, and that horrified him. 

Francis melted from shadow to shadow, pausing to scan the parking lot for unwanted observers. 

...Empty. 

Good. 

He slid the patio door open just enough to slip in, closing and locking it behind him. The remarkably unremarkable blackout curtains rattled along their tracks louder than he’d expected. He caught his breath and froze, listening. A few measured breaths coaxed his heart back into proper time. Why did he feel so nervous? This wasn’t the first time he’d killed, and it wouldn’t be the last. Something about Will Graham that he couldn’t place, something flickered at the edges of his sanity; soft but unmistakable; moth-like, eating holes into the fabric of his composure.

Francis shook his head, trying to clear the creeping cobwebs and confusion. He assessed the room, looking for any weapons Will might make use of against him. A holstered gun in the folds of a jacket. Francis emptied the clip, bullets in his pocket, gun under the bed. He replaced the holster carefully back in with the jacket, then unplugged the desk phone. 

This seemed preparation enough, and so at long last, he began to undress. Yes, he was here to end a life, but it was more than just simple murder. One of the things about Will was that he seemed like an equal, like someone who might understand Francis, as both man and Dragon, and that was terrifying. There was too much about himself that he didn’t understand. Maybe a part of him hoped to divine some kind of clarity in the blood and the aftermath. Maybe killing the only person who could potentially know him better than he knew himself was a mistake. He only knew that he wanted it to be a fair fight, even if he had the element of surprise on his side.

With each layer of clothing that he removed, lines and shapes on the skin beneath began to emerge. Soon revealed in all its half-healed glory, a masterfully worked tattoo seemed to transform Francis from man to Dragon.

Sounds of Will bumbling around in the shower drifted from the bathroom, blessedly unaware of the beast now lurking in the room just beyond. The water soon stopped, and Francis crouched, fully naked, knife in hand, in a dark corner, waiting for his adversary to emerge.

  
Will cursed under his breath, pressing his calloused fingers against his sinuses, keeping himself upright with his palm against the cheap wet tiles of the shower. His exhaustion was causing his vision to blur and he couldn’t wait until he was cocooned in his bed, warm and safe. He could relax then, and the stressful day he had just painfully endured would melt from his mind for a few hours. He longed for it, the sweet release of sleep. The willing sacrifice of consciousness. He just wanted freedom, which lately he only found by forcing himself into slumber using aids such as pills. No medicine would be used tonight. It wasn’t needed. He could sleep for two full days if he had the time to. His mind was on the cusp of breaking again, he could sense it. He could evade it for a little bit longer by getting some rest. 

He reached to the towel rack on the other side of the curtain and dried himself, patting his body haphazardly and uncaringly before wrapping it around his hips. Stepping out of the shower he ran his tongue over his teeth, the moss and unclean feeling caused him to grimace. He had idiocally forgotten his toothbrush at home but he had remembered the paste. Packing had never been his forte. He reached for the one item he had brought to the restroom with him and uncapped the paste, squeezing a dollop onto his freshly cleaned right hand. He rubbed the paste along his teeth with his digit, doing the best he could with what he had. He moved his clothing from the sink so he could finish off by rinsing his mouth with water from the sink in his cupped hand and spitting the aftermath into the porcelain tub. 

Flicking the light out he finally made his way into the other room, with the bed as his desired destination. He was half-way to the mattress with its fresh white downy linens when he gazed to the patio door. The curtains had been moved. Will wasn't much, but he prided himself on his attention to detail. His heart pounded hard in his chest. No longer was exhaustion weighing on his body, he was fully alert, adrenaline pumped through his veins. He wasn’t alone. 

The tension that seized Will in its iron cold grasp was visible and sudden. He stood facing the window, his back to Francis, who cursed under his breath. In his attempt to seal off the outside world he had foolishly given himself away. And yet… Will still hadn’t moved. Was he frozen with fear, or merely calculating his next move, waiting for Francis to strike? 

Harsh yellow light from the single lamp on the desk flowed over every hill and valley along Will’s well-toned body, part gilded skin, part violet shadow. Will began to slowly turn and the outline of his profile, crisp and glowing, stirred long-settled sediment in the depths of Francis’s mind.  _ Ugly, ugly _ , he thought, disgust and dread touching flame to the most base, primal instinct of man. He wanted to destroy this Adonis...no, not destroy. Dominate. Control. Own. Mark. 

Knife forgotten, Francis stood at his full height and stepped out of the darkness, large and looming. He moved swiftly to take Will by what little surprise was left, one hand twisted into Will’s dark curls, still wet from the shower. He forced him onto the bed face down and growled, too feral, too consumed by animalistic rage to speak. 

Between Will’s lips came a sound that he never before remembered making in his life. A sound mixing together like red paint in milk swirling from his tongue and into the open hair, guttural and primal, ending in a whine that trailed off as he gripped the sheets on either side of his body. He rocked back against the man, cursing and trying to buck the man’s dead weight off him to no avail. He was pinned, captive to whatever Francis’ want to do to him. What torture would he choose for him? 

Would he tie him up and rip the lips from his face with faux teeth like he had Frederick? Would he cut the eyeballs from his skull like he had so many helpless families before him? Will wasn't ready to die, especially at the hands of the “Great” Red Dragon. There was no glory in it. Nothing exciting about a death like that. Hannibal had maimed Will in the past and while at the time it caused him nothing but pure agony, Will secretly, deep in his heart of hearts hoped he would one day die at  _ that _ man’s hand. Not this fake, this show off with his overdramatics. Will wanted Hannibal to be the one to take his life, in what way, he himself didn’t even know. But it wasn’t his time. Not like this. 

Will tried again to buck the man off him, disgusted by the proximity of this monster. The man above him, pressing him down, was nude, Will could feel the warmth of the solid body nearly twice his size radiating from him. Will’s face was turned to the side with his teeth grit hard in a disgruntled growl. He wouldn’t hesitate to bite if Francis were stupid enough to get his hand too close. His towel was hanging loosely around his hips still only halfway on. He shifted and closed his eyes with embarrassment and repulsion as the towel moved completely off him and to the side of his body. He could feel the man half-hard against the small of his back. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Will tried again, one last futile attempt to get free. 

Francis used his size to his advantage, Will small and thrashing like a desperate little bird with broken wings beneath him. Will was stronger than he looked, and Francis found himself growing hard with pleasure as he fought to keep Will pinned down on the bed. More of an even fight than he’d expected or hoped for, pleasant surprise. He pressed his hips down against Will’s naked backside, relishing in the whimpering cry that flew from Will’s lips. 

“Please,” fear rising to the surface above embarrassment or indignation, “please…don’t...” Will all but sobbed. 

Francis grinned. All menace, no mercy. His features distorted in the sharp half-shadow, fangs and coal black eyes where once lived the face of a quiet, withdrawn, misunderstood man. With one hand he forced Will’s face into the comforter, muffling protests and pleas as Will fought blindly, reaching for his jacket. He caught hold of the leather harness and his stomach dropped, understanding instantly that his handgun was not where it should have been. 

“Pathetic,”  _ Ugly _ . Francis grabbed the harness out of Will’s hand and whipped it away. The leather smacked loudly against the cheap, ugly wallpaper. Will flinched at the sound; Francis laughed. He held Will’s back down with the side of his arm, more dark laughter rising and tumbling forth as he spat into his palm and slicked his cock. 

Head now free, Will twisted around, trying to get a better look at his assailant. He’d been caught completely off guard, and after the immense stress of a long day at work, it was all he could do to keep from breaking down, pinned to the sheets like an etymological specimen, vulnerable and on display.

“Just fucking kill me. Get it over with. You don’t have to...” Will seized up at the first ghosting of Francis’ cock head against his skin. Francis stroked again, tugging Will’s plump pliable flesh to the side, nudging the man’s legs farther apart with his knees between them. 

Nothing at all, except for the fact that his captive was alive this time, was different from Francis’ typical conquests. Before leaving each home, each scene of destruction and death, he always made sure to mark at least one body. The Mark of The Dragon, he needed to meld with his art before bidding his tapestry of macabre imagery an adieu. Always. It was a compulsion, the synapses firing in his brain during climax served as the perfect compliment to the adrenaline rush he got during the massacre. The smell of copper thick in the air as he had fucked into immobilized flesh always drove him to the edge and over. 

But they were always dead. There was never any struggle, no fight, no cursing, not like with Will Graham. Francis had decided, unconsciously, the moment he saw Will step out of the shower that he wanted a different experience. He wanted to hear him, feel him writhe, before he ripped his throat out, not after. He wanted Will warm around him, pulsing, opposite of all the others. Cold, like marble.

_ Ugly.  _ Francis’ cock, slick with his own saliva nudged at Will’s hole and the man thrashed around again, though pinned down by the force of the dragon above him. There was no escaping. The man was ugly to Francis, but the sight was beautiful. How pitiful this Will Graham was, how high and mighty and confident he had been to speak ill of him in a public forum. Not so confident anymore was he? He would be even less so when he was bleeding out. Francis would watch the life leave the man’s body, from his pretty blue eyes  after he had marked him. The thought was titillating. It chilled Francis’ bones. His own cock throbbed in his grasp. The curve of Will’s back, the sheen of sweat there, the quivering flesh invited him in. 

In one movement Francis pressed in, animalistic, only thinking of his pleasure, brain clouded and drunk only on the possibility of inflicting pain and torment to the now sobbing man below him. 

Will gasped through his tears, pressing his face into the mattress wanting to disappear, wishing he were dead. He would be in a few moments, he knew that much. He was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. This was the end for him, one last act of torture and pain in his fucked up life before it was lights out. Francis pressed into him fully, bottoming out with a shivering groan, his other hand finding Will’s damp curls to grip and pull as his hips snapped back and forward again, his thick cock tearing through the virgin hole. He leaned down, smelling the sweet stench of cheap shampoo there, his tongue darting out to lap and lick at Will’s ear. Will tuned it all out, as best as he could. But the pain, the searing discomfort was a blaring crimson light through into the dark room Will had recessed into. It was unignorable. 

Will groaned, tears soaking into the white sheets below him, a futile bucking of his hips back but he knew he wasn’t going anywhere, the assault would continue no matter what he did. He lay still for the first time after that and tried his best to relax. Fighting was pointless, it was doing nothing but egging his attacker on. 

The room, Will’s palace of the mind he had retreated into was dim and dreary. A dungeon, a basement of sorts. A labyrinth underground. He turned a corner attempting to escape the red light but no matter how many turns he took he couldn’t elude it. He heard a voice vibrating through the cavern, soft and delicate echoing through the vast room. Will turned down another hall, attempting to find the source of the familiar voice to no avail. He heard it again, calling his name in the darkness.  _ Will _ . The light was falling behind him, finally.  _ Will _ . 

Will was running now through the halls, corner after corner, trying desperately to find him. The red light had disappeared, finally, but had been replaced with blue. Royal. The color of the dining room he had sat in so many times. 

Hannibal was there, his arms open for him at the end of a long corridor. Will didn’t hesitate, sprinting down the hall until he was in the man’s arms. His enemy. His friend. He clung to him, shaky in his grasp. Hannibal held him tight, stroking his hair and rocking the two of them back and forth, soothing him. 

“I’m going to die,” Will’s voice came out muffled and nearly silent as he sobbed into Hannibal’s neck. 

Hannibal didn’t speak a word, not out loud. And yet Will could sense exactly what he was asking of him. Hannibal was telling him exactly what he needed to do without uttering a single sound. Will held him tighter against him, an unexpected moan falling from his open mouth. Hannibal rubbed his back, nodding and licking his lips, ending in a toothy half-smirk.  _ That’s it.  _

Will moaned and Francis stilled. Frozen in mid-thrust. Anger boiled in his chest. This wasn’t how he had imagined it, everything had been so perfect moments ago. Will had lost his fight and had begun making noises of pleasure rather than pain. Francis grit his teeth, his face blushed with hatred for this disgusting man beneath him, surrounding him. Francis’ thrusts became more erratic, growling and scratching his nails into Will’s side, hard, trying to get a reaction from him, but nothing. 

Will subconsciously pressed back against Francis, arching into the assault, whimpers falling from his lips. 

_ No _ .  _ Not like this.  _ Francis bit Will’s shoulder sinking his faux teeth into the flesh. Will didn’t react, even with the searing pain, blooding trickled down his skin. He was lost in his mind, in Hannibal’s arms. Nothing else mattered. 

Hannibal’s embrace was constrictor-like, Will felt safe in those arms he had once tricked himself into fearing. His hand, slow and steady had made its way into the back of Will’s pants, not hesitating in sinking his fingers into his tightness. Will focused on that intrusion, his mind mixing it with the physical one. It was Hannibal, not his assailant. His voice quivered and he pressed back against it, held tight and secure in his mind. The pain in his shoulder was nuzzled and kissed away by his protector. 

Francis hated this man. Loathed him. But the sounds falling from his lips were beautiful, the way his back arched against him, encouraging the violation. Francis had never experienced a semblance of consent, never desired it, or perhaps that was simply his mind’s way of tricking him since he knew he wasn’t worthy of it. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Will’s face to the side drawn in ecstasy.  


Francis rocked forward, groaning and emptying himself into the man underneath him, pumping himself forward and back rutting into the warm flesh. It was so new, so different, he sobbed, his body wracking with a shiver. 

_ No _ .  _ Disgusting. Ugly.  _

Francis retreated, fear of what he had just experienced overcoming him. Hitting him like a bullet between the eyes. Scrambling off the bed he gathered his things, dressing himself in unheard of haste and was gone, like a candle, once fierce and burning brightly, blown out in a sudden gust of wind. 

Will hadn’t noticed the departure of the man, the loud slamming of the door, numb to the outside world, still lost in his fantasy, his palace. His haven.  


Hannibal’s fingers deep inside him, he ground his hips and leaking cock against the sheets below him, staying perfectly still except his lower half as if he were still being held down. He rut forward spilling and crying as he came, Hannibal’s breath against his neck, digits deep inside him. His lips quivering and his legs still spread, leaking with Francis’ come, he opened his eyes slowly, long lashes batting open to the realization of what had happened. 

The feeling of emptiness and loneliness washed over him. Confusion and shame bombarded his mind in a tornado of emotion but he quickly willed them all away and relaxed against the sheets. Focusing once more on hearing Hannibal’s voice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make us happy af 🥰💐👉🏻👈🏻


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